The Lights
by gentlewinnix
Summary: The cancer came in the spring. Winnix. Warnings: major character death.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** Tags include: AU - Modern Setting, Cancer, Grief/Mourning.

* * *

"Hey there," Lew says. He's bundled up in a thick winter coat with a knit scarf pulled up to his nose. It's colder than he remembers it being, and he's quick to put the bouquet of flowers in the vase so he can bury his hands in his pockets again.

"Haven't got much to tell you." Lew cants his head to look up at the sky. "I moved. California. Couldn't stand looking at stuff that reminded me of you. Don't take it personally." Lew scuffs at the dirt with his heel and sighs. He looks down at the headstone, reading the words engraved there for the first time since he'd left Pennsylvania.

"Lip told me you'd want me to move on." Lew smiles faintly. "I met someone. Gorgeous girl. Her name's Grace. But I couldn't...I couldn't do it without you. It wasn't right, Dick. We're just- we're just friends. You were the only one for me."

The gravestone remains silent. Lew's attention shifts to the sky again.

"I miss you," he says, the words crackling across his tongue. "Sometimes I can't even get out of bed now that you're gone." Lew frowns, shaking his head. "Grace- or Lip- they call me every morning to make sure I'm-... Well, you know how I get sometimes." Lew chuckles dryly.

"It's nice to see you again, even if it has to be this way." Lew scuffs at the ground again. "Love you," he murmurs.

Lew stands in silence for a moment. The wind blows across the cemetery, shaking the tree behind him. Then he turns and walks away, the flowers left trembling in the vase sitting at the base of the headstone, the lights flicking on down the street as storm clouds blow in overhead.

Still, it is silent.

* * *

The cancer came in the spring.

Dick and Lew had been living together for little over a year, and dating for two. After their tour in Iraq they'd made a life for themselves in Pennsylvania, with a townhouse in Hershey and a barn cat that liked to wander onto their porch and sleep.

Lew was hopelessly in love with Dick and Dick, somehow, felt just as strongly for him. It boggled Lew's mind sometimes, and when he was loose with drink or had had an especially good romp with Dick in their bed, he'd confess as much. Dick always dropped a hand to his shoulder, pulled him in for a kiss, and said, "I can't imagine loving anyone but you." It was more than Lew thought he deserved, but Lewis Nixon was nothing if not selfish.

So he kept Dick close.

Lew always figured he'd be the one to ruin it. His drinking would get too bad and he'd make Dick irrevocably angry, he figured, or he'd wrap the car around a tree driving under the influence, or perhaps he'd die of lung cancer from all the cigarettes he smoked, or cirrhosis from the drinking.

He'd never considered that Dick would be the one to fall ill.

Dick had passed it off as nothing but a stomach flu, at first. He'd started having stomach pains after eating, and some indigestion, but for a while it had been just that. He ate less at dinner and threw up a few times, but he took medication and convinced Lew that he was fine, that it would pass.

It didn't.

After a month he was still sick, thinner now without his appetite, constantly weak and tired and irritable. He snapped at Lew and struggled to get out of bed in the morning, and whenever he ate something the pain would get so bad he'd curl up in bed, agonized tears soaking into the pillows.

"You gotta see a doctor," Lew coaxed one night, after Dick had been laid up in bed with crippling stomach pains for nearly forty minutes. "Please, Dick. This isn't...this can't be just a stomach flu. You might have ulcers."

By then Dick's foolish stubborn pride had been worn down completely. He nodded tightly and let out a whimper, curling up further, and Lew coaxed him into his coat and shoes. He kept one eye on Dick as he drove them to the hospital, and his heart ached in his chest as he saw just how sick his lover was.

At the hospital he sat and filled out paperwork as a nurse checked Dick's vitals. Lew explained the stomach pains, nausea, and malaise that had plagued Dick for the past month, and Dick quietly confessed that he'd been bleeding some too.

"I think it's stomach ulcers," Lew had said.

The nurse nodded. "We can do an upper endoscopy to check. Have you taken any medication or eaten in the last five hours, Mr. Winters?"

Dick hadn't, so they'd gone right into the procedure. Lew waited outside as they put Dick to sleep and looked into his stomach. It was over in less than half an hour. The doctor came out, looking grim.

"It's not ulcers," he concluded. "We found a tumor."

Lew's stomach dropped. "_Cancer_?"

The doctor nodded. "He's lucky we discovered it this early. It hasn't metastasised, and it's small enough it can be removed with a simple surgery. The sooner the better, though."

"Jesus Christ," Lew groaned. "Stubborn ass wouldn't let me bring him to a doctor two weeks ago. Turns out it's cancer. Christ. Well, thank you, doc."

"Of course. Good luck."

* * *

It was a week until Dick could get the surgery. Before all this, they'd planned to go on a date for their anniversary on a Friday night, but Dick was still sick and Lew tried to convince him to forget it.

Dick won.

So Lew drove them out to their favorite restaurant, and helped Dick out of the car and into their booth. Dick was already pale and breathing hard by then, but he insisted he was fine, that they go on with it like they always had before. But it wasn't the same.

Lew couldn't help noticing how Dick was weak with exhaustion and hardly spoke, listening to Lew with an intensity that wasn't unfamiliar, but also wasn't right. When his meal came- little more than a bowl of chicken noodle soup and some dinner rolls- he took only a few spoonfuls before stopping. And at dessert, he gave his ice cream to Lew after only one bite.

Dick fell asleep as soon as he was settled back into the car. Lew felt awful at the thought of waking him up so soon, so he took the long way home.

Once they were both tucked in bed, Dick moved as if to touch him, to make love to him, but Lew pushed him away gently.

"You're tired," Lew said. "Sleep."

Dick shook his head. "I want to, Lew. Please." He'd looked at Lew with such desperation in his eyes that Lew found his stomach churning with anxiety.

"Okay," he'd relented, "but you just lie back and relax, alright?"

Dick nodded and went lax as Lew slung a leg over his hips to straddle him. Lew kissed him slow and deep, rolling his hips gently and reaching down to cup Dick through his pajama bottoms. He was soft to the touch, but Lew forged on anyway. He couldn't deny Dick a simple pleasure when he was sick like this.

After, Dick fell asleep holding Lew's fingers to his lips. His breath came quick and shallow, and the blankets had slipped from his hip. Lew tugged the quilt back up, covering Dick's torso, and lay awake. He thought of hospitals and doctors cutting open Dick's pale belly.


	2. Chapter 2

The surgery goes well. Dick is put under and released - to be under observation - within the same day. He falls asleep as soon as Lew herds him into bed, the drugs still in his system.

It takes a few days for him to recover, but after there is a noticeable difference. He has most of his energy back, and while he still can't eat solids for a while, what he can eat goes down without much more than a passing sense of discomfort.

After that, it seems like things are on the mend. Dick builds up his strength again and helps Lew fix the sailboat, which they take out on the Susquehanna every other weekend all through the summer. Dick gets sunburnt every time despite his liberal use of sunscreen, so after every trip finds Lew slathering aloe on his shoulders, arms, and the back of his neck.

It's in the fall that the cancer comes back.

Like before, Dick develops stomach pains after eating. It's easier to be coaxed to the doctor's this time; where, as Lew had feared, they discover another tumor.

"We can try chemotherapy," says the doctor. "To keep it out for longer, if not for good."

Lew looks to Dick, the fear clear on his face. Dick knows what chemotherapy does to people; drains the life out of them until the cancer is gone. His hair will fall out, and he'll get thinner and thinner no matter what Lew feeds him. But the thought of going through surgery over and over again until they corner the source of the cancer- he can't bear to think of it.

"Dick?" Lew asks. Dick looks to him, sure Lew will recognize the fear under the calm facade he's put up in front of the doctor. "What do you want to do?"

Dick shakes his head. "I need- I need to think about it," he says softly.

The doctor nods. "You can call us up when you've decided." He smiles, sympathetic. "It's a tough decision. But ultimately, it's yours to make."

* * *

They don't talk about it.

Lew takes them out on the boat twice before Dick quietly declines, too tired now to handle it. He'd been cooking, for a while, but he ceases to do that as well. Lew picks up the slack on most nights, but sometimes he orders delivery. Dick feels bad about it, but he's exhausted.

Dick wakes up one night to motion and Lew's breath on his neck. He lies very still for a moment, unsure of what Lew is doing, until he hears Lew choke off a moan.

"Lew," he says quietly.

"Shit." Lew stills behind him, breathing hard. "Shit, Dick, I'm sorry."

Dick shakes his head. "It's okay." He reaches back blindly and finds Lew's wrist, guides him through the motion of it. Lew gasps softly, Dick's hand over his.

Lew lets out a choked cry and kisses Dick's spine, open-mouthed. By now Dick is starting to feel the pain again and he takes Lew's hand and moves it against his own stomach, uncaring of the mess on his fingers.

Lew falls silent behind him, perhaps solemn with the realization that beneath his fingers lies the cancer that's slowly killing Dick.

"I'm scared," Lew admits quietly. "I can't lose you."

Dick doesn't respond. He's afraid, too, of dying - but also for Lew, once he's gone. He knows it'll be hard for Lew not to turn to drinking again. He knows Lew needs someone to take care of him when things get bad, because he can't always take care of himself the same way other people can.

Dick doesn't say any of this, though. Instead he guides Lew's hand further down. He hasn't been able to in so long, but he wants to feel closer to Lew somehow, and this is the only way he knows.

"Dick," Lew protests weakly.

"Please, Lew." Dick's throat suddenly aches with emotion and he grips Lew's hand tighter. "Please."

* * *

In the morning after, Dick makes the call.

"I'll do it," he says.

Lew cries that night.

* * *

For a few days before the first of his chemo treatments, Dick can't even keep water down. He throws up blood in the toilet and has to have Lew carry him back to bed, where he lies curled protectively around his stomach, whimpering quietly. It's the most sick he's been and he knows Lew is terrified. He spoons up behind Dick and kisses his shoulders fervently, wills some of his body's warmth to seep into Dick's clammy skin, his fingers reaching up to rake through Dick's hair. Dick knows it'll be gone by the end of the month, if not sooner; it's already dry and listless from the stress of the surgery and of fighting the cancer.

Dick trembles in Lew's arms and asks for more medicine, too tired to move or open his eyes. They've given him a morphine drip for when the pain gets too bad and Lew goes to get it, gives it to him and climbs in beside him once again. He stays until Dick falls into an uneasy sleep, then slips from the bed to his office to work.

He doesn't get much done.

* * *

On the first of his chemo treatments, Dick doesn't take to it well. He grows tired and nauseated and throws up twice there in the clinic, and for the rest of the day he feels awful. Lew can't touch Dick or anything he comes in contact with for risk of contamination, so he sleeps in his old bed and Lew handles all of his clothes and sheets with gloves on. Dick doesn't like it, wants to be held and comforted, but he's too tired to speak or stay awake for long and passes into a restless sleep.

He spends most of his time between the treatments sleeping. He wakes up when Lew brings him food and coaxes him into a bath twice a week, but mostly he rouses for a few minutes at night, alone. Sometimes he has nightmares and he'll startle awake on a sob, and Lew will rush in to comfort him despite no-contact orders.

He worries more for Lew than he does for himself. He knows Lew, knows how much he can work himself up over the smallest perceived mistakes. Dick can only imagine how Lew will blame himself if he gets sick again, or worse, if he doesn't make it out alive.

One day when he's feeling well enough to climb out of bed and walk under his own power again, he asks Lew to invite Lip, Ron, and Harry over for a while.

It's not for him, and he makes sure Lew knows it.


	3. Chapter 3

Nearly two months pass with Dick slowly recovering from the chemo regimen. Lew feeds him all the best meals to get his strength back up, starting with things that are easy on his stomach and slowly working their way up again, and when Dick is feeling up for it they go out to exercise, swimming laps at the pool and walking to the grocery store and back. They even come home with a dog one day, Dick insisting that Lew have someone else to keep him company. She's an old German Shepherd named Mavis.

Everyone's glad to see Dick on his feet again, but it quickly becomes apparent that he's not unaffected by all he'd endured. He struggles sometimes to comprehend what people are saying or doing and why, and it frustrates him to the point of withdrawal. He'll just stop trying, find someplace to be alone. Not even Lew can get through to him when he's like this.

What hurts most, at least for Lew, is that Dick has gone cold to him. The chemo had damaged some of his nerves, and even though he's regaining energy and stamina he still doesn't respond to Lew's touch.

"I don't know what to do," he says quietly. He feels Dick's hands on his back, trying to coax him into rolling over.

"Lew," Dick pleads. "Lew, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me. We can- there's medicine for this."

Lew falls silent as Dick curls up against him, kissing every inch of his exposed neck and shoulders and mumbling apologies into his skin. After a while, Dick gives up and presses his face between Lew's shoulders. He feels something wet drip down his spine. Dick is crying, Lew realizes.

"Please," Dick rasps desperately. "Please, Lew. Don't- don't do this to me. I-I can't take it."

And maybe it's heartless. Maybe it's cruel. But Lew is hurting too, his chest tight and aching, wounded. He gets up and leaves the room without looking back at Dick. His heart breaks when he hears Dick let out the most wretched sob he's ever heard, crying out his name, but he swallows it all down.

Lew gets dressed and leaves the house. In the driver's seat of his car the hot wave of grief catches up with him and he screams, hitting the steering wheel with the force of his frustration.

"It's not _fucking _fair!" Lew cries. "What more can you take from us, God? What'd Dick ever do to you?!" And as quick as his anger had come, it fades, leaving him feeling hollow and scraped out. The tears break free and he pitches forward, hitting his head on the wheel hard enough to bruise, cradling his head in his hands.

"Fuck," Lew hisses. "It should've been me."

* * *

When Lew comes back home the sun is beginning to rise again and Lip's car is there in the driveway. He shuts his car off and sits in the silence for a while, feeling unprepared for Carwood's wrath. He knows he deserves it, knows he was selfish and stupid to leave Dick alone in such a fragile state. He'd known it since his anger withered and dissipated into the cool night air, left him driving to his sister's house to crash for the night.

There's a light on in the living room, and he knows Lip is waiting. Lew climbs out of the car and goes inside.

"Lewis," Carwood says. He's sitting at the dinner table, solemn.

"I know," Lew croaks. "I know. I'm sorry." He closes the door, goes to pull a bottle of whiskey from the fridge and sits across from Lip.

"Dick called me last night. He was crying."

Lew grimaces. "I know," he chokes out. It hurts to think of it. Dick's heartbroken wail echoes in his head and his stomach twists. He takes a pull off the whiskey.

"Lew, I have _never _heard Dick cry like that before. What you did was just-" Lip shakes his head, expression grim. "I can't believe you just _left _him like that."

Lew bows his head as the tears come up again. "I'm sorry," he rasps. "I'm sorry, Lip."

Lip reaches across the table, his hand coming to rest overtop of Lew's. "Look at me, Lew. Please. I'm not-" he sighs. Lip gentles his voice when he speaks up again. "I'd be lying if I said I'm not angry, but I need to know what's going on with you, Lew. I know...I know it's been tough, with the cancer. But Dick was telling me it's all his fault. Why would he say something like that?"

Lew can't talk around the lump in his throat. He shakes his head and lets the tears drip onto the table, feeling like a sorry excuse for a man.

"Hey," Lip calls gently. He squeezes Lew's hand. "C'mon, Lew. I'm not gonna hurt you. I just wanna know what happened."

Lew sniffles and meets Lip's eyes. He manages to talk, his voice strained with emotion. "We-we've been...trying to be intimate," Lew starts. He tries to take a deep breath and starts up again, shakily. "Dick- since the cancer started, he's been too exhausted to really...respond. It just...wouldn't work." He looks up at Lip again, searchingly.

"Go on," Lip encourages.

"He...well, the doctor said the chemotherapy might make him...dysfunctional." Lew grimaces. "I-I thought he was alright. But...he isn't. It just won't work. But he wants it, Lip, he's been trying so hard. And...and last night, he wanted me to take care of him. I did, but...I-I'd hoped it would do something for him. But it didn't." Lew sighs. "I was angry. Not- not at him, exactly. But I didn't say anything. I just left him there. I went out for a drive and crashed at Blanche's. I knew it was wrong of me to leave him, Lip, I was just...so upset."

Lip hums in sympathy. "It's been tough all around," he agrees. "But Dick isn't in a good way, Lew. He's getting better physically, but up here," Lip gestures to his head, "he's still hurting."

Lew looks up at him now, brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Dick's always been an independent at heart," Lip explains. "But he's lost a lot to the cancer. He needs you more than you realize, Lew. And you left him when he was most vulnerable." Lip's jaw clenches. "That hurt him. A lot. I was up there with him for two hours just trying to calm him down." Lip holds Lew's gaze. "He blames himself for all of it."

"Christ," Lew says. "It should've been me."

"Don't say that," Lip snaps. "If it was you dying he'd still be worried to death. He's already talking about who'll take care of you when he dies, and he's the one with cancer."

Lew falls silent then, worrying at his shirtsleeve.

"Look," Lip says. "I know it's been tough. If you need any help, I'm here. But I don't want to get another phone call like that. When Dick wakes up I want you to apologize." Lip smiles sadly. "He needs you, Lew."

"Okay," Lew says meekly. "I will."

Lip nods. "I gotta run. I gave him his meds already, so he should stay out for a while." He stands up then, moves to grasp Lew's shoulder. "You take care of yourself now."

"Yeah. Bye, Lip." Lew watches him go and sits in silence for a while. Mavis ambles over to him and sits, staring up at Lew expectantly.

"Alright, alright," he says, getting up to fill the dog's food dish. He busies himself with tidying the house and then goes up to his office with the intent to work. Sometime before noon he hears Dick pad into the room and he turns to look at him.

Dick looks awful, pale and washed-out, his eyes puffy and red from crying. He sways on his feet.

"Christ," Lew mutters, getting up to help Dick. "Here, sit down before you collapse." He guides Dick onto the couch by the window and steps back nervously when Dick doesn't speak or look up at him. Lew hates apologizing, hates the way his overinflated ego takes it as a blow every time, but Dick is so important to him and he knows he's only hurting them more the longer he goes without apologizing.

"Dick," he says gently, sitting down beside him on the couch. "Look, I...I'm really sorry about last night. I shouldn't have left you like that, and I shouldn't have made you feel bad about something you can't control. It isn't your fault, sweetheart."

When Dick still hasn't said anything Lew reaches for his hands, desperate to see Dick's eyes looking back at him, some sign of mending between them.

"Dick," he pleads, "I need you, too."

Dick's shoulders begin to quake and he keens, a tear splashing onto their joined hands. He ducks his head lower, lip quivering, and sniffles.

"Hey, hey. C'mere, baby." Lew pulls him into his arms and Dick lets out a strangled sob, clutching at the front of Lew's shirt. Lew strokes a hand over his head, fingers pushing through the few inches of pale red hair Dick has now, and rubs at his nape comfortingly. Dick cries out a little rougher at the touch, as if it pains him somehow, but he presses closer to Lew and cries into his shirt.

"Christ," says Lew. "I've gone and done it now, haven't I?"


	4. Chapter 4

A year passes. Things are different between Dick and Lew now; their relationship is quieter now, raw and aching beneath the love that remains. When they make love it's hushed and slow, and sometimes tears streak down Dick's cheeks and he turns away, choking down his emotions.

In the spring Dick is sick yet again.

"Don't," he says when Lew reaches for the phone. "I'm too tired, Lew."

"Dick-"

"No," he says. "I can't fight anymore."

* * *

"It's raining," Dick murmurs. He's curled up beside Lew, his nose tucked under Lew's ear, cold hands resting on his chest. Three blankets cover them, but Dick is still shivering. Lew strains to hear the quiet static of the rain.

"So it is," says Lew. He moves to kiss Dick on the brow.

"I want to sit outside," Dick says wistfully. Lew catches him looking towards the window. There's a sliver of grey between the drawn curtains.

"It'll be too cold. You're still shivering, and it's like a sauna in here." Lew frowns worriedly. "Maybe we'll give you a hot bath."

Dick meets Lew's eyes. "Okay," he croaks. He drops his head back onto Lew's shoulder, looking bereft.

"Hey," Lew chides gently. "We can go outside as soon as you're feeling better. I'm just worried you'll get sick if we go out in the rain. You're already so cold."

Dick makes a half-hearted sound, nodding listlessly. His pale eyelashes flutter against Lew's skin as he blinks. Lew can sense his unhappiness, but he doesn't know how to make it better. He feels disoriented, like he's been dropped into enemy territory without so much as a map and compass to guide him. Dick has never been one to feel sorry for himself, and whenever Lew had wallowed in his own self-pity, Dick hadn't known what to do, either. Mostly he'd left Lew alone or fucked it out of him.

"Are you feeling up for a bath?" Lew asks cautiously.

Dick shakes his head. "'m tired, Lew," he mumbles, sniffling. He curls closer to Lew, desperately seeking his body heat, and Lew moves to lay on his side so they're chest-to-chest under the covers. Dick averts his gaze, unusually shy.

"I love you," Lew says. "You know that, right?" He reaches for Dick's chin, tilts his head up so he can meet his eyes.

"Of course," Dick whispers, looking up at him with an intensity. "I love you too, Lew." He manages a tiny smile.

* * *

Dick waits.

He waits until Lew is gone, off to work an hour away, and the house is silent.

It's almost too much for him to walk out onto the porch. Dick stops at the door, leaning heavily against the wall and struggling to catch his breath. His legs tremble under his slight weight and he can't help the soft cry of agony that escapes him as his muscles burn and ache. Mavis ambles over, chuffing as she rubs her flank against his leg.

Dick steels his resolve and manages to get out onto the porch, collapsing onto the swing with a sob of relief. He leans back and closes his eyes, so exhausted now he doubts he could stand again. Mavis whines and noses against his knee and Dick opens his eyes, smiles and reaches down to pet the dog's head.

"You take care of Lew now," he says quietly. Mavis snuffles, licking his fingers as they fall still.

On a Sunday afternoon in late April, Dick breathes his last breath.

* * *

Lew finds him out on the porch swing in the dwindling sun, a blanket from the couch draped over him, Mavis curled up by his socked feet. She lets out a whine when Lew steps out onto the porch and he knows.

Dick's eyes are closed, the faintest smile on his lips. Lew takes Dick's hand, limp but still warm, feeling for a pulse he knows isn't there. It still comes like a punch to the gut when his fear is confirmed.

"God," he chokes out, his throat closing up as the grief wells up within him. Lew falls to his knees, pressing his cheek against Dick's open palm. Mavis presses up along him, whining, and the dam breaks. Lew sobs into Dick's knee, feeling like the world's collapsed all around him.


	5. Chapter 5

Lew's speech is good. Ron starts crying halfway through, his hand finding Lip's and gripping it tightly. Lip can see Lew cracking up too, but he's always been good at talking through his emotions, and he finishes without a hitch. But he doesn't return to his seat up front, instead quitting the room all together.

"Car," Ron says quietly, and Lip nods. He squeezes Ron's hand and gets to his feet, following Lew's path out of the room.

He finds Lew in the hallway outside of the bathrooms, collapsed on the floor with his knees drawn up against his chest, shaking. There's already an opened bottle of Vat next to his hip.

"Lewis," Lip calls softly, dropping down beside him. There's not much Lip can say to make Lew feel better, so he settles for a hand on his shoulder and a quiet, "Hey."

Lew looks up at him. There's so much pain in his eyes that Lip feels his heart constrict. He pulls Lew into a hug, letting him cry into his shoulder.

"He's gone," Lew sobs. "Dick's gone, Lip." He clutches at Lip's jacket, shuddering with emotion. Lip rubs Lew's back.

"I know," he says, fighting tears himself. "I know."

"What am I s'pose to do now? I can't live without him. He was everything," Lew mumbles. "Everything."

* * *

Lew is quiet through the rest of the service, looking hollow and worn-out. Lip stays at his side, a hand on his lower back the entire time. Ron casts him a few sad smiles but keeps his distance.

Once Dick is buried and the service ends, Lew asks to leave. In the back seat of Ron's car he lies down with his head in Lip's lap and trembles, tears rolling slowly down his cheeks. Lip runs his fingers through Lew's hair and talks to him until he falls asleep.

"Ron," Lip says quietly, "let's go home. I don't want Lew to be alone tonight."

* * *

Lew awakens in an unfamiliar bed. His mind draws a blank for a moment, but then he sees a picture on the wall of the six of them; him and Dick, Ron, Lip, Harry, and Kitty, and he remembers. Lip and Ron's house. It's dark outside, but he can hear a commotion in the kitchen, the creak of floorboards as someone walks towards the guest room.

As if on cue, there's a knock at the door.

"Come in." Lew grimaces at the roughness of his own voice.

"Hey," says Lip as he opens the door. "I figured you wouldn't want to be home alone tonight."

Lew nods, swallowing. He watches as Lip comes around the bed, sitting beside him.

"Ron's making dinner," he says. "It'll be ready soon, if you want some."

Lew can't abide the thought of eating, much less drinking anything right now, and shakes his head. Lip seems to understand, a sad smile flickering across his face. He pats Lew's hip through the sheet, moving to go. Lew's hand snaps out from under the covers, taking Lip's wrist.

"What is it, Lew?" Lip pauses, then leans in, touching Lew's cheek gently. Lew presses into the touch with a quiet whimper, closing his eyes.

"I don't want to be alone," he mumbles. "Please don't go."

"I'm right here," Lip reassures him. "I won't leave if you don't want me to."

"Stay," Lew says. "Stay."

"Okay," Lip stretches himself out alongside Lew so they're lying face-to-face; Lew curled beneath the covers and Lip settled on top. Lew reaches for his hand, grips it tightly in his own, afraid Lip will leave him. Lip can't begin to imagine how Lew must be feeling now.

"I miss him," he says quietly.

"So do I." Lip smiles sadly. "He was a good man."

"Yeah." Lew's hand quakes. He leans in closer to Lip, presses their lips together in a chaste kiss. When he pulls back he looks ashamed. "I'm sorry," he whispers, tearing up. He turns his face into the pillow, curling into himself.

"Hey, no, don't be sorry, Lew," Lip cups Lew's cheek, turning his dark eyes up to meet his own. "There's no shame in wanting comfort."

"But Ron-"

"Would be okay with it." Lip smiles. "He knows us, Lew." He leans in to catch Lew's lips again, and Lew shudders, gripping Lip's shoulder. His lips are absolutely trembling, and Lip tastes salt and whiskey trapped in the cracks of his chapped skin.

They stay like that until Ron's voice comes from down the hall, and Lip convinces Lew to join them at dinner. It's a simple affair - pork roast, potatoes, and carrots, and it reminds Lew sharply of the dinners Dick always cooked for them. His stomach growls insistently and he accepts a plate, smiling reassuringly at Lip.

He tries not to think about Dick as he eats.

It doesn't work.

He cries himself to sleep that night.


	6. Chapter 6

It takes Lew a long time to recover. No one faults him for it, but he feels like a burden on Ron and Carwood, who keep him and Mavis for over a month. He's receptive to their affections, curling between them in their California king most nights, but it's never sexual- Lew can't bear to betray Dick like that.

In the fall he decides that Pennsylvania, like New Jersey before it, is no longer good to him. He goes home, to his and Dick's house, and starts to pack his things. Dick's stuff is still there, of course- collecting dust like everything else, and Lew can't bear to touch any of it. Ron takes care of it for him, boxing all of it neatly, writing "_ Dick" _in bold black Sharpie.

In Lew's new house in California, those boxes are stored in the back of the closet, waiting patiently for the day Lew will be ready to open them again.

He never wonders if he's made a mistake, moving across the country, leaving his family and friends. It was the right thing to do, he knows, because it was what Dick would have wanted for him- just like when he'd encouraged Lew to leave New Jersey, to start a new life with him in a place where his past can't haunt every street. It's not running away, what he's doing- because he recognizes what needs changing within himself, as well.

In California, Lew stops drinking.

He never looks for sex, not as a comfort or a crutch, because he knows it's a vice like all the others. He'd wanted it, with Carwood and Ron, had wanted to be pressed down and filled up, driven to the edge, but he recognized that it would be nothing more than a coping mechanism, a way to use others to distract himself instead of facing his problems.

He does not, however, quit smoking - but he supposes he can live with that one small failure.

Lew finds a support group he feels comfortable in and opens up about everything- the war, his family, the drinking, falling in love with Dick, and then losing him. It's cathartic, and by the end of it he feels lighter somehow.

He meets Grace at a doctor's appointment - he's had some health issues they suspect are early signs of diabetes, as of late - and is smitten. They go on a couple dates, and he enjoys it, but there's a nagging feeling of guilt in the back of his mind. He's leading her on, he thinks, because he doesn't have any desire for commitment, for intimacy or love. Dick was it, for him, and maybe that could change a few years down the line, but for now, he simply can't.

Lew goes back to Pennsylvania on a whim, goes to visit Dick's grave and talk. It's been six months already, he realizes.

There's a storm moving in, but Lew walks to the house, stands at the end of the driveway and watches. A family has moved in already - the lights are on and he sees people milling about; a man and a woman, a little girl, a dog. He's glad to see them enjoy the house, unaware or unbothered by the death that happened there, the months and years of suffering before it, the things that sapped the color from a romance that could have lasted a lifetime.

It starts to rain, and Lew looks up at the sky, willing Dick's voice to return, to comfort him and tell him it's okay to let go.

Because he hasn't, not really.

He's not sure if he ever will.


	7. Coda: In These Empty Spaces

**Author's Note: **_On the two year anniversary of Dick's death, Lew uncovers a secret. _Coda to _The Lights. _

Nobody asked for this, but I've been sitting on the vague desire for a coda to this story for ages, and I finally finished this. I apologize in advance for any (further) emotional trauma this may cause.

Tags include: Grief/Mourning, Secrets, Memories, Letters.

* * *

Lew wakes up to dog slobber on his face. He hears Mavis whine and chuff at him, demanding her breakfast. Lew groans and opens his eyes, looking up at the dog. She barks, sitting on his chest and giving him her best adult impression of puppy eyes. She won't go away until she's been fed, and some days it's the only reason he gets up at all. Today is one of those days.

"Alright, alright," Lew croaks, reaching up to ruffle the furry scruff of her neck. "I'm up, girl."

Mavis barks again and clambers off of him and onto the floor, sitting expectantly in the doorjamb as he rolls out of bed. His head feels stuffed with cotton and his mouth is dry, but he's sober. Most days that's a victory, but today of all days he wishes he could just drink himself into oblivion. Lew follows Mavis into the kitchen and fills her food and water dish, then makes himself coffee. He- _they_\- used to eat real breakfasts; eggs, ham, and toast with jam, or just oatmeal, when Dick was feeling lazy; but Lew had never done the cooking, and it feels like sacrilege to break the ritual. So he makes his coffee and sits in the silence of his cramped, overpriced Los Angeles flat, thinking of nothing at all.

Eventually Lew gets up, intending to shower and make an effort to face the day. He wanders into the bedroom instead and stops in the doorway, staring at the empty bed, the space opposite where he sleeps; the sheets are unrumpled, the surface of the side table bare. His chest feels heavy.

Two years.

Two years since he'd lost the love of his life, come home to find him dead on the back porch in the waning sunlight. Two years he'd slept alone, unable to find a spark of feeling for anyone in his life. Two years he'd been carefully keeping his friends all at a safe distance, waiting for the day when it all became too much to bear and he threw himself into the ocean. Somehow he'd never been able to do it, had known that Dick would've wanted him to live, to go and explore the world and live out his dreams. And he had- for the past year he'd traveled everywhere he'd wanted to go, but it hadn't been the same without Dick there by his side.

Lew's gaze shifts from the bed to the closet door. He knows Dick's things are there, boxed away in the back of the closet. He hadn't touched any of it since he'd left their house that dreadful night, had made Ron pack it all away for him. He's not even sure what he will find in there- Dick was a very private person, and Lew had respected that until the end.

He finds himself walking towards the closet, sliding the door open. He thinks distantly that he really ought to get drunk before he does this, but shakes the thought away quickly. He needs this- to be close to Dick again, somehow, and he needs to be fully present for it.

Lew takes down the first box he sees, setting it on the bed. There's a thin film of dust on the surface. Lew feels bad for neglecting his lover for so long. Not a single photograph decorates his apartment, no sign that Dick had ever existed at all, and Lew suddenly feels deeply ashamed of it. His hands shake as he takes the lid off of the box, exposing its contents.

"Christ," Lew chokes out. At the top of the box is the photograph Dick had kept on his bedside table, of him and Lew together in Chicago, at the beach. Lew picks it up, brushing the dust off of it, and looks at his lover's face for the first time in two years. He'd forgotten what Dick really looked like; the freckles on his cheeks, the crow's feet at the corners of his grey-blue eyes. They're both smiling in the photograph, and when Lew closes his eyes he can almost feel the warm summer breeze on his face, the sand under his toes. There are beaches in LA, but Chicago was different, because he only ever shared it with Dick.

Lew sets the photograph aside, finding the contents of Dick's bedside drawer in the box. It's mostly junk- pencils, business cards he'd picked up here and there, his deodorant and cologne- but Lew finds his service medals, opens the case to look at the ribbons. He remembers meeting Dick in OCS, serving at his side in a war neither of them really believed in, but would never regret serving in. He puts the medals down and digs up a dog-eared paperback book. Curious, Lew flips to a page of the book and reads a paragraph. His eyebrows raise.

"Wow, Dick," he exclaims, shutting the book quickly. He puts it back in the box. His knuckles brush against something soft, and he frowns, taking it out. It's a jewelry box of some sort that he's definitely never seen before. Wondering if it was a gift for Dick's sister, or perhaps his mother, he opens it up.

Lew's heart seizes.

Nestled in the box are two silver bands, smoothly polished and unassuming. There's no note or indication of anything in the box, just the two rings, and Lew's stomach feels tight. It couldn't possibly mean anything other than what he's thinking, and he sits down on the edge of the bed, staring at the rings.

Lew isn't sure how long he sits there staring, but when he blinks and looks up again the light has shifted, and his gaze shifts over to the diary he can see sitting untouched in the box.

He'd always respected Dick's privacy, never reading it or looking over Dick's shoulder while he wrote in it. But it'd been two years now since he'd felt Dick's touch or heard his voice, and Lew can feel the gaping hole in his chest growing bigger day by day. Dick's private thoughts are Lew's only remaining connection to the man he'd loved. He picks it up, setting it in his lap. His fingers hover over the ribbon keeping the thin book shut.

Lew looks again at the velvet box, knowing what it contains, and knows he can't go on without knowing for sure. He unties the ribbon and opens the diary, skipping to the last page. He finds a short entry, addressed to him, and his heart jolts.

_Lew,_

_My time is short, so I will keep this brief._

_If you're reading this, I'm sure you've found the rings. And yes, they were for us._

_I had been planning to propose to you that night we'd made dinner reservations. But then there was the diagnosis, and I felt it wasn't the right time. So I waited, hoping the cancer would stay away. But it came again, and I knew I couldn't ask that of you, to tie you down like that. I couldn't ask you to marry a dead man._

_I hope you'll be able to forgive me one day._

_Love always,  
Dick_

"Goddamn you, Dick," Lew hisses, his throat aching. He closes the diary, unwilling to read any more of it.

After Lew had stayed with Lip and Ron for a week, waking up frequently through each night from vivid, upsetting dreams, Lip came home with a weighted blanket and a long body pillow for Lew. It couldn't truly substitute the feeling of Dick's body against his, but it helped, and he had brought the pillow and blanket with him to California and everywhere he had traveled.

That night Lew curls against that same pillow, closing his eyes and imagining Dick's touch; his arm around Lew's waist, his bony knee wedged between Lew's thighs. Lew breathes out a shaky sigh, swallowing hard. He'd slipped up- he's drunk, hot and sick with it, but he thinks he'll be forgiven for it, just this once. He remembers the last time he held Dick like this, the morning before Dick had died. He'd known then that Dick didn't have much longer. Dick had been heartbreakingly thin, small, in Lew's arms, and every breath was an effort that Lew barely felt against his bare skin.

The memory makes Lew's chest ache, and he opens his eyes. He touches his chest, finding the chain around his neck and following it down to the two rings resting against the sheets.

"I would've said yes," Lew whispers.


End file.
